


All in a Line

by crisiskris



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Do it for Harry, M/M, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crisiskris/pseuds/crisiskris
Summary: Severus needs a little help with a potion.





	All in a Line

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest (3rd wave) three word challenge: 'involuntary', 'conceal', 'snaky'. Written prior to the last two books being published so doesn't fit with canon. A bit of funny formatting that I'm too lazy to correct: /thoughts/

2:01 a.m.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was surrounded by a hazy fog.  Its inhabitants slept peacefully within the stone walls, impervious to the world outside them – or most of its inhabitants did.  Currently, the one exception was Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, who was pacing up and down in his office, his slippered feet whispering against the floor. Albus couldn’t sleep. Two of his children – and he considered them all his children, all those who passed through Hogwarts' doors, whatever their motivation for doing so – were missing, and there would be no rest until they had returned safely.

The two children in question were the two over whom Albus lost the most sleep, one for decades now, and the other for the last six years: Severus Snape and Harry Potter. Severus had been gone for days now, infiltrating the Dark Lord’s forces for the good of the Light. He was probably fine, but Albus had never grown accustomed to these lengthy absences, and they tended to end with the Potions master in the infirmary, so he really couldn’t help but worry. Harry Potter had disappeared the night before, and though he was an adventurous child who did live, to some degree, by his own rules, he was not overly disobedient, and certainly was not given to vanishing without even telling his friends where he was going.  Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger, however, had seen neither hide nor hair of the Boy-Who-Lived since yesterday afternoon.

And so Albus paced, and waited, and tried to ignore the growing dread in his heart. Suddenly there was a cracking sound, and an oddly dressed house elf appeared on his desk. “Dobby!” he cried, grateful for the distraction. “What can I do for you?”

“Headmaster Dumbledore asked to know when Professor Snape or Harry Potter returns,” Dobby replied, “and both are in the forest now.”  Relief flooded through Albus as if his blood were made of it.  It was short lived, however, when Dobby hung his head, fat tears plopping onto the wooden desk below.  “Harry Potter is not well, Headmaster – professor says Harry Potter may die!”  Dumbledore heard a great rushing in his ears, drowning out the world, and felt oddly faint.  /No, it can’t be, / he thought.  /It won’t be./

“Then we must hurry,” he replied, grabbing his cloak.  Together, Headmaster and house elf rushed to the edge of the woods.

 **

2:13 a.m.

Severus was waiting for them, sitting on the cold ground in his shirtsleeves, his cloak wrapped around the deathly still figure lying in his lap.  He looked up and met Albus' worried gaze with impenetrable black eyes.  “Headmaster,” he intoned softly, not moving.  Albus knelt swiftly by his side.

“What happened?” he asked.  Harry Potter was pale and limp, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.  Dumbledore blinked away tears.  “Was it poison?  Can it be cured?”

“Yes, and – perhaps not.” Severus replied, his voice low.  Albus looked at him impatiently.  Couldn’t he see that Harry was dying?  Severus’s face remained unnaturally impassive, a sign that the Headmaster had learned to recognize as shame in the younger man.

“What did you do?” He asked harshly, not caring about the involuntary flinch that Severus could not conceal, his eyes falling to his snaky fingers.  When the Potions master did not reply, Albus reached over and shook him bodily.  “Severus Snape, what did you do?”

The younger man briefly met his gaze, and then looked hurriedly away. “It is called a Soul Eater.  It is hatred bottled.  There is a cure - ”

“Thank Merlin!” Albus sat back, brushing a hand over his eyes.  “Then come on, quickly, we have to get him to the infirmary – Severus, what’s wrong?  Let’s go, quickly!” The younger man had not moved.

“Albus, you don’t understand.”  Severus’s hands clenched around the body in his arms.  “The Soul Eater potion was my invention.  I brewed it using the… essences of the three people in this world who hated me most.  The only antidote to the poison is its complete opposite.”  Albus’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension, and Severus laughed mirthlessly.  “Ah, yes, I see you understand.  Harry Potter has hours to live unless we can accomplish the impossible – and find three people who still walk this planet, and who love me.” 

**

2:33 a.m.

The impromptu gathering of witches and wizards, all dressed in various assorted nightclothes, would have made a humorous sight had the occasion for their gathering not been so dire.  Albus looked around at his colleagues – Minerva McGonagall, to his right, was dressed in a long grey nightgown; next to her, Hermione Granger was similarly clothed in red.  Ronald Weasley had nearly shown up in his shorts, but Remus Lupin – the only other member present besides Severus and himself who was fully dressed – had kindly reminded him to throw a robe on over top.  Severus himself was standing near the werewolf, pacing back and forth.

“Severus, please. Sit down,” Minerva said for the umpteenth time, and for the umpteenth time the Potions master ignored her.  She turned to Albus, irritation plain on her face.

“Why don’t we begin?” Albus said, smiling placatingly at the witch, but making no effort to seat the troubled man.  “Severus, perhaps you could explain how the poison was made, so that we can understand what we’re up against.”

“It’s very complicated,” Severus began, his voice dark and defensive.  “It’s a variation of the Draught of the Living Death, only with the magical power of hatred brewed into it.  I added three ingredients – essences taken from three men who hated me powerfully – and infused them with all my bitterness and resentment.  Potter will not die, per se, but his soul is being consumed by dark magic.  When the potion runs its course, he’ll be little better than a Dementor.”  Minerva bit back a gasp; Hermione Granger allowed hers to escape.  Ronald Weasley looked like he might pass out any second, and even Albus looked ill.  “I was very young when I created it,” he continued, shame choking off his voice.  “I didn’t – I didn’t realize the implications…”

“What were the essences you mentioned?” Remus interrupted.  Of all those present, only he had seen the pain in the other man’s eyes as he described the potion.  No one else seemed to have noticed, but Remus could clearly see that Severus regretted his invention.  Presently, the Potions master raised his head to meet the werewolf’s eye, grateful for the compassion and the lack of accusation in his voice.

“Uh, yes.  Well, there was blood – ahem – from Sirius Black,” another gasp from the audience, “well, he was an obvious choice, really, there was no doubt that he hated me.” Even Weasley seemed to smile at that.  “And there was saliva from my father, and uh, a third substance.”

“Which was?”

To everyone’s surprise, Severus blushed.  “Uh, it was, it was from Lucius Malfoy – it was, ahem…” he trailed off, unable to say the word.  Unfortunately, Albus seemed to understand what he was trying to get at.

“Ah, semen!” he said loudly.  Minerva pinked slightly, while the two students turned bright purple.  “Of course, that makes sense.  Although I’m surprised to hear that Lucius hates you.”

“He always has, Albus, he’s just very good at pretending.”  Severus’s voice was tired and world-worn.  He sighed, running his hands through his hair.  “In order to counteract the potion, I would need one sample of each of the… substances – saliva from a father, blood from a peer, and, uh, the other from… well, but that’s impossible, you see.”  Severus turned, hiding himself under his hair.  The room was absolutely silent for a moment.  “I’m sorry, Albus.  I can brew the potion, but without those three ingredients, it won’t counteract all the magical effects.  Potter may live, but he’ll never be the boy he was.  Or the man he’s supposed to become.  There’s nothing I can do.”  With that, he turned on his heel, and in a very un-Snape-like way, fled the room.

 **

2:56 a.m.

There was a knock at the door.  He ignored it.  The knock came again.  He ignored it.  The knock came a third time, and kept knocking, getting louder and more insistent with every passing moment.  “For the love of Merlin!” Severus growled, feeling anger break through the depression he had been futilely struggling against since the moment that his Dark Lord had brought out the vial. The thin blue bottle had been unmistakable, and he had poured the potion down Potter’s foolish throat before Severus could even take a breath, let alone react.  The Potions master flew to the door of his chambers and threw it open.  “What do you want?” he barked, before he even registered who was there.

Draco Malfoy stood in his doorway, trying not to cower.  “Good evening, Professor,” he said formally. 

Severus’s face softened fractionally.  “What do you want, Draco?” he asked again, more quietly.  Draco did not respond, but glided into the chamber and set something down on the desk.  It was a vial, filled with a murky red liquid.  “I don’t have time to indulge your experiments right now, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape began.  Draco rolled his eyes and shot him an exasperated look.

“Oh, shut it, Uncle,” he replied.  “I was listening through the door the whole time.  Potter’s not the only one with an invisibility cloak, you know.”  He looked around his Head of House at the cauldron boiling over the fire.  “Is that it?”

Severus held back a sigh of impatience.  He should have known that his nephew would be privy to what was going on – he was the most Slytherin of all the Slytherins Snape had ever met, including the boy’s father.  “Yes,” he replied.  “Fat lot of good it will do us, but that is it.” 

Draco shrugged.  “Well, I can’t make anyone fall in love with you by sunrise,” he replied.  “But I can give you this.  Who knows, maybe it’ll be enough.”  He indicated the vial he’d brought in.  “Blood of a peer, right?”  The young blond boy held up one hand to forestall Snape’s inevitable protest.  “I know, I know.  I’m not exactly a peer.  But I am a fellow Slytherin – and I do love you, Uncle.”  He pressed the vial into the Potions master’s hands.  

/Please, don’t ever let that boy take the dark mark, / he prayed, as he did every time he spoke with Draco.  /He’s too good for the fate of his father. /  A gentle light flickered in the dark-haired man’s eyes as he reflected on his nephew, who for all his arrogance had turned out to understand right and wrong much more clearly than anyone had thought him capable of.  Snape unstoppered the vial and poured its contents into the cauldron.  A quick swirl, and the murky potion turned a bright yellow.  Draco’s love was real.

**

2:59 a.m.

Feeling more than a little awkward, Severus swept his young nephew into a quick embrace, then ushered him toward the door, muttering, “get back to bed before anyone else finds you out here, or I’ll have to remove house points.”  Draco complied, stepping over the threshold of Snape’s private quarters – and straight into Albus Dumbledore, who was waiting expectantly in the hall.

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy!” he exclaimed.  “I’m glad that your Slytherin tendencies were put to productive use.”  Malfoy blushed, remembering suddenly that Dumbledore could see through invisibility cloaks – and probably through solid oak doors, for that matter.

“Waiting your turn, Albus?”  Severus asked sardonically, allowing the young man to escape down the hall while he invited the Headmaster inside.  Dumbledore twinkled and held up a small crystal bottle. 

“I did not expect Mr. Malfoy’s contribution,” he said by way of reply, “but I am gratified that he saw fit to do so.”  Snape nodded silently as he took Dumbledore’s vial from him, slowly pouring the contents into his simmering potion.  “You see, Severus, there are people that love you.”

“Yes,” he replied softly.  The potion had shifted from a bright yellow to a shimmering gold.  “Apparently there are.”  He ducked his head, overcome.  Albus walked over to him and gently pulled the man into a fatherly embrace. 

“You see?  It’s going to be all right,” he said.  “The potion will succeed – I put a lot of effort into that spit, you know.”  Severus laughed as he pulled away from his mentor.

“Perhaps,” he replied.  “With two of the essences, Potter may be able to live almost normally… although I can’t imagine how he’ll escape suffering from depression… if only there was a way to acquire the third,”  despondency settled over Snape’s features as he contemplated the ridiculousness of his finding a lover before dawn.  “Well, it’s something, at least,” he finished, trying not to choke on his words.

To his surprise, Albus’s eyes had lost none of their twinkle.  “You may be surprised,” he replied enigmatically.  Then, just as Severus looked up sharply and was about to ask what in Merlin’s name the Headmaster was talking about, the older man yawned theatrically and moved toward the door.  “Well, I’ve done my part.  I need to get my beauty rest!” he exclaimed, and moved toward the door.  Before the dark haired wizard had a chance to say anything, Dumbledore was gone.

Severus sighed and turned back to his potion.  It was bubbling gently, just as it should be.  Everything about it was perfect, except for the tell-tale color that indicated that something was missing.  The wizard closed his eyes, feeling old and grief-stricken.  Of course there was something missing – but it would always be thus. 

 **

3:05 a.m.

His reverie was interrupted by another knock on the door.  Gods, couldn’t they leave him in his misery, since he couldn’t have peace?  Shaking himself into action, Severus strode toward the door, arranging his features into the familiar sneer he wore to keep the world out.  He yanked open the door and prepared to hex whoever was behind it, and if it was Dumbledore, be damned…

“Impedimenta!” cried a tenor voice, and Snape went flying backward, landing quite unceremoniously in one of his armchairs.  Remus Lupin stood framed in his doorway, looking a little frustrated.  “Honestly, Severus, you could be a little nicer,” he scolded.  Severus sat there, dumbfounded for a moment.  What on earth was Lupin doing there?

It seemed like a logical thing to think, so he asked, “What on earth are you doing here, Lupin?”

  
Remus shrugged.  He walked to Snape’s liquor cabinet and poured two brandies before joining Severus in front of the fire.  “I thought you might like some company.  From what I understood from your notes on the Soul Eater potion, the antidote will have to simmer all night.  I thought a little conversation might help you pass the time.”

“You found my notes?” Snape’s brow furrowed.  He had forgotten that he’d written anything down. 

“Albus had them.  Apparently a whole manuscript on poisons was confiscated from you when you were arrested 16 years ago.”  Severus nodded.  That made sense.  By the time the aurors had gotten their hands on him, he’d been so worn out from playing spy that he didn’t have a clear memory of anything.  Thinking back on the time made him feel even more burdened, however, and he transferred his gaze to the fire, feeling bleak.

“Ah.  Well, that explains it,” he replied coldly.  A moment of silence passed before he roused himself enough to say, “Lupin, your presence is not required here.  I hardly need assistance with the potion, and as I’m sure you can deduce, I am not going to be much of a conversationalist.” 

Remus just smiled.  “I thought you might say something like that,” he replied.  “So let’s not talk.  Let’s play chess,” he pulled a miniature chess board out his pocket and enlarged it to its proper size.

Severus eyed the other man.  On the one hand, he felt like he should be throwing the werewolf bodily through the door in which he had come.  On the other hand, it was going to be a long night, and chess did sound better than sitting in front of the fire nursing his regrets.  Plus, if Remus was still as good a player as he had been when they were students, he would be a challenging opponent.  With a slight nod, he acquiesced, and Lupin smiled as he set up the board, nudging his white pawn forward.

 **

3:48 a.m.

Severus smiled triumphantly as his rook took Lupin’s knight.  Remus, to his surprise, smiled along with him.  “Your game has improved over the years,” he said, contemplating his next move.

Snape shrugged.  “I had a lot of time for such diversions, at one point,” he replied.  Remus nodded.

“It must have been terribly lonely for you when you started teaching,” he said, an empathy present in his voice that caught the dark-haired wizard unaware.

“I-I suppose it was,” he replied with uncharacteristic honesty.  It had been lonely.  His childhood friends had either scorned him when he became a Death Eater, or had been on the dark side themselves, and with Voldemort gone, everyone was in a hurry to disassociate themselves from everyone else.  Those who weren’t dead or locked up in Azkaban, that was.  The teachers at Hogwarts had all been aware of his duties, which meant that they knew of the choices he had made as a youth, and nearly unanimously wanted nothing at all to do with him.  The children regarded him with distrust and fear – he was a closed, taciturn person, a Slytherin in a time when every toddler knew that Slytherins were dangerous, and he wasn’t much to look at to boot.  He had been dreadfully alone, except for the Headmaster.  “Albus and I would play for hours.  Eventually, Filius agreed to play against me as well.  Chess was the way in which I gained companionship.”

“Chess is good for companionship,” Remus agreed, sliding his bishop forwarding and knocking out Snape’s last knight.  “I remember that you and I used to play quite regularly when we were in school.”

“Yes, for a few years,” Severus replied.  The obvious stayed unspoken, as it always did with Lupin: we played until you nearly killed me in our fifth year, as a result of  Sirius' little prank.  We played and we flirted and you stole my heart until Black decided he’d like to have a little fun, and then we could never play again.

“I never understood why you refused to speak to me after that,” Remus said softly, daring to speak about the unspoken.  Severus looked up warily.  Remus’s eyes held no malice, no accusation; they were gentle as they met the Potions master’s gaze.  “I knew you well enough to know that you weren’t a prejudiced person, Severus.  Your explanation never made sense to me.”

“It was the best I could do,” Snape replied, surprising himself again with his honesty.  “Of course McNair and Rosier came to visit me in the infirmary; it was obvious that I’d been attacked.  I had claw marks in my shoulder.  And my housemates certainly didn’t miss the fact that you, I, Black, and Potter were called to Dumbledore’s office together.  Slytherins don’t miss anything.  The only thing they didn’t know was which one was the werewolf – but it didn’t matter.  If I’d associated with any of you – well, at that time, social isolation from the only place I’d gained a modicum of acceptance was a more painful prospect than losing your friendship.” 

To his credit, Remus did not appear hurt by the last statement.  Instead, he kept Severus’s gaze, and then asked, “And is it still?”  
  
”A more painful prospect?”  Severus thought about it for a moment, his deep eyes unfocusing.  The fire crackled as he considered the question, and he turned to it, letting the flames capture his gaze.  “No,” he replied at last.  “I have learned much about the price of… fitting in since then.” 

The werewolf nodded, and they sat in silence for a while.  When Remus spoke again, all he said was, “It’s your move.”

 **

4:26 a.m.

“Check,” Remus said, leaning back with a smirk.  Severus furrowed his brow.  He wasn’t the only one whose game had improved with time!  He studied the board for a moment, and then turned away, buying time under the pretense of stirring the cauldron.  Lupin let him get away with it.  “Tell me something, Severus,” he said, still smiling.  Severus grunted noncommittally, which Remus obviously took to be a ‘yes’.   “How did you get the three essences for the original potion?” 

Severus took a breath, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, a position that shielded his face through his hair as he stared at the chess board.  “Once I realized the potential, I couldn’t wait to try it out,” he replied, remembering how excited he’d been.  “Back then, it wasn’t a poison, it was a potion. A powerful potion that no one else had made yet.”  He allowed himself a faint smile as he finally picked up his knight, taking the white queen that had been dogging him all game.  Satisfied, he leaned back and continued his explanation.  “Black was easy enough.  We fought so often, and so violently, that I was regularly spattered in his blood.  Remember that time I broke his nose?”

Remus laughed.  “Of course!  He was so angry – James teased him for a week that he’d end up looking exactly like you.” 

Snape looked vaguely insulted, but carried on.  “Well, he certainly bled enough.  When I squeezed out my robes, I filled half a vial.”  His eyes grew distant and guarded as he considered the next ingredient. “Saliva from my father – that had to wait until Christmas holidays of that year.  I brought home my mid-year grades and he was furious that I’d only gotten an ‘adequate’ mark in Transfiguration.  He screamed at me for an hour, and then he beat me.”  Snape’s face grew hard.  “It was really quite simple after that.  I pretended to cry, and he disowned me for my weakness.  He threw me out of the house and spit on me as I lay on our doorstep, trying to catch my breath.”  He looked up and saw that Remus had completely forgotten about the chess game.  “It’s your move, Lupin,” he reminded.

“Severus, I had no idea!” Remus replied, aghast.  “You were on your own in sixth year?  How could any man throw away his own flesh and blood?”

“It was exactly the reaction I was expecting,” Severus replied, shaking his head at Remus’s naiveté.  “I pretended to cry because I knew I could get him to spit on me.  It worked perfectly; I had more than enough saliva.  And there couldn’t be any doubt that the man hated me when the sample was given.”  Remus was still gaping.  “Come off it, Lupin, we were a lot more independent back then than children are now.  And it wasn’t as if I didn’t have anywhere to go – I’d already taken the dark mark by that time; there were dozens of Death Eaters willing to take me in.”

“So where did you go?”

“The Malfoy residence, of course.”  Remus shook his head, game completely abandoned in favor of asking, “And Lucius?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Snape’s voice became frosty at the memory, but his whole body had stilled.  His face took on an expressionless countenance as he gestured at the playing board.  “It’s still your move.”

 **

4:39 a.m.

“Checkmate.”  Remus sat back, grinning openly. 

Severus gaped at the board.  “That’s not possible,” he replied, growling.  He checked and rechecked every possible course of action he could take – and there was none.  “That’s impossible!” he said again, glaring at his chess pieces.  His king just shrugged, throwing its sword down at the white knight’s feet.  Severus sighed.  “Oh well,” he muttered at last, “it’s almost time to bring Potter his potion anyway.”  He looked bleakly at the cauldron, still simmering, a beautiful and terribly wrong gold color.  “Hand me that ladle, will you?”  
  
Remus picked up the ladle, but did not hand it over.  After a moment the Potions master looked up and caught the other’s eye.  “Tell me what happened with Lucius,” the werewolf said softly, a strange expression on his face.  “Did you rape him?”

“No.  I could never do that,” Severus replied, angry at the very thought.  He shook his head impatiently and held his hand out for the ladle, but Remus just held it more firmly.

“Did he rape you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Snape averted his eyes.  “Why are you being so insistent?

“Because I want to ensure that I’m not triggering any old pains before I take a lover,” Remus replied.  Severus’s head shot up, his brow furrowing.

“What the hell are you talking about, Lupin?”  He demanded harshly. 

Remus just smiled and indicated the cauldron.  “You’re still missing one ingredient.”

“Yes…”  the dark-haired man looked at his companion with suspicion.

“Well, I can provide it.”  Remus touched Severus’s arm lightly, and looked directly into his eyes.  “I fell in love with you over a game of chess when I was 13 years old.  Tonight, I’ve remembered why, and I can honestly say that right now, what I feel for you is love.  It might not be as strong a love as Lucius felt hate, but it’s love nonetheless.  And I’m offering it to you.”

“For Potter’s sake, of course.” Severus couldn’t help the sneer in his voice.

“Yes.  And for mine.”  Remus moved closer to the other man, cupping Severus’s face in his hands.  As Severus watched him, frozen in fear and confusion, the werewolf bent down and brushed his lips across the other’s.  “And for yours,” he whispered.  Taking Snape’s hands in his, he lifted the dark haired man to his feet and began pulling him toward the bedroom.  “Let me love you, Severus,” he said softly.  “I waited in line all night.”

“You – well that explains what Albus was muttering on about.” Severus allowed himself to be pulled down to the bed.  He allowed Remus’s hands to touch him, caressing his shoulders and stroking down the long planes of his back.  When the werewolf leaned in for another kiss, he opened his mouth in wonder and curiosity, and Lupin’s tongue brushed against his own.  Severus could not contain a shiver as excitement sped down his spine towards his groin.

“Yes,” Remus hissed into his mouth, crushing Severus against him, grinding his hips against the Potion master’s.  “I love you, Severus.”  Strong hands were at his throat, undoing the buttons to his shirt, down, down, trailing along his stomach before pulling the fabric away from his body.  Severus slipped his arms free and stopped the other man.

“Remus – I can’t say… I mean, I’ve never even considered…” he began.  Remus smiled against his shoulder.

“It’s all right, Severus.  I’m not asking for anything tonight.”  Those hands were at his fly now, rolling his pants down from his thighs until they fell to the floor.  Remus reached up and pressed his palm against the base of Severus’s cock, and it leaped in response.

“Remus,” he moaned.  “Please…”

“Yes.”  Somehow between the grinding and the kissing and the electricity that was building inside him, Severus managed to undress the werewolf, his clumsy fingers tearing at the buttons of Remus’ shirt.  Soon they were naked together, writhing and touching, and it was hands and mouths and breath and sweet, fire, building, beautiful…

Severus cried out, feeling far away, as the pressure in his balls boiled over and poured out.  He felt himself spill out over Remus’s hands, and Remus stroked him gently, kissing him softly, and Severus felt tears prick beneath his eyes.  “Thank you,” he murmured, meaning the release, the evening, the redemption, meaning everything, and Remus seemed to understand because he held him close as Severus drifted, strong arms enveloping him, the werewolf’s warm breath ruffling his hair. 

It seemed like forever before he came back to himself and remembered why it had all started.  “We need you to come,” he said, and Remus nodded.  A small smile spread across Severus’s face.  “I can do that,” he said, laying the werewolf flat on the bed and sinking down between his legs.

Remus’s cock pulsed in a thatch of brown hair, swollen and ready.  Severus paused to taste the soft skin of his thighs, drinking in the scent of the man, earthy and animal.  He licked the heavy balls, earning a gasping moan from the werewolf, and smiled. Licking his lips, Severus brought his mouth up to the head of Remus’s penis, swirling his tongue around the sensitive ridge before taking Remus into his mouth licking and sucking, his head bobbing up and down.  Remus began to murmur his name, and Severus felt the other man’s hands come to rest in his hair.

He worked on Remus’s shaft, occasionally moving to lick his balls, and in very little time Remus was tightening, his fingers tangling in Snape’s hair, and crying out, “Se-Severus, yes, yes!” as he came, shooting his seed into the Potions master’s mouth.  Severus took in as much as he could before withdrawing.  With catlike grace, he stood and moved over the cauldron, spitting the semen into the potion in a single stream.

There was a blinding white flash, and when it had faded, Severus looked down to see that the liquid had gone translucent.  He whirled around and stared at the man on his bed, who had just propped himself dazedly onto his elbows.  “You really love me,” Severus whispered hoarsely.

“Yes.”

“You really love me.”  Severus launched himself at the bed, scooping the werewolf up in his arms.  He held him tightly, tears leaking out his eyes.  “I don’t think anyone has ever really loved me before.”

“Poor Severus.  You have always been loved,” Remus replied, shifting so that he could stroke the other’s hair. “I have always loved you.”  They held each other a moment longer, silent, as the Potions master cried.  Finally, Remus pushed away with a little smile.  “Dear Severus.  I would like to stay here forever, but we have a potion to deliver.”

“Right, of course.”  Severus stood and fumbled for the ladle, measuring the potion into a vial.  Together they dressed and walked toward the door, where the dark haired man stopped his new lover with a gentle touch.  “Remus,” he said, feeling shy and awkward.  “I would like to love you.  Will you – would you like to…”  he trailed off, unsure how to express what he is feeling.

“Severus, I fell in love with the boy you were.  I love the man I know you to be.  But there is a lot that we don’t know about each other.  I would be delighted to get to know you better – and to let you get to know me.”  The werewolf smiled, and leaned in for a chaste kiss.  When he drew back, Severus was smiling as well.

“Then let’s get this over with so we can get back here and… get to know each other.”  Laughing, they set out down the corridor.

 **

5:22 a.m.

Harry groaned.  His head felt the size of a pumpkin and it ached horribly.  Conscious of a myriad of voices around him, he cautiously opened one eye.  The world spun crazily for a moment, a blur of pink and red and purple, before he opened his other eye and everything settled.  The pink turned out to be Madam Pomfrey, or her night robes, at least.  Beside her, the red was Hermione; Ron stood behind the bushy-haired teen, looking anxiously down at his friend.  The purple was, of course, Dumbledore, who was seated next to the bed.  Behind him were Professors McGonagall, Lupin, and Snape, who looked faintly disapproving as he set a glass vial down on a nearby table.

“Harry, my boy!” Dumbledore exclaimed.  “How do you feel?”

“Horrible,” the teen replied, not even trying to sit up.  “I feel like a lorry ran me over.”  Dumbledore laughed.

“Yes, well, to be expected, my boy, to be expected.  Do you remember what happened to you?”

Harry nodded.  He remembered only too well - he’d been walking in Hogsmeade, enjoying the sunshine, when suddenly he’d had the sense that he was being followed.  Looking up, he’d realized that there were Death Eaters behind him.  He began to run, but there were Death Eaters in front of him, too... “I ended up being taken in front of Vold – You Know Who,” he replied, amending the last at Ron’s horrified face.  “He gave me some potion, something about a Soul Eater, he was going on about how I’d become a dementor and there was no cure.  Oh, Merlin,” he cried, suddenly alarmed.  “I’m not going to be a dementor, now, am I?”

Dumbledore patted his arm.  “No, no, child, it’s all been taken care of.”

“So you found an antidote?” he pressed on.

“Yes,” The Headmaster replied.  To Harry’s surprise, everyone else looked away uneasily. 

“What?” the teen demanded.  “What is it?  Was it… was it really gross?”

“Yes!” McGonagall, Ron, and Hermione all replied emphatically.

“Oh, no,” Remus Lupin answered softly.  

“On the contrary.”  Snape’s voice was barely audible, but Harry caught the words.

“Well?”  he demanded.  “Isn’t anyone going to tell me?”

Remus suddenly stirred.  “I should go now,” he said quickly, hurrying toward the door. 

“I’ll come with you,” Severus added, following him out.  Dumbledore and McGonagall rapidly followed suit.  Harry’s eyes fell to the medi-witch, who was busily cleaning up a counter top.

“Don’t look at me,” she said.  “I just work here.  Professor Snape brought you in, everyone disappeared for a few hours, and then he brought you a potion and you woke up.  That’s the extent of my involvement.”  Still, she seemed in a hurry to return to her office.

Ron was hedging toward the door.  “Well, it’s late,” he began, “classes in the morning… we ought to be going , right, Hermione?”

“Er, yes, classes, that’s very true, Ron.  Goodnight, Harry…” Harry’s eyes took on a sharp, steely expression as he pinned them down just before the doorway.

“Hold it.” He growled.

 **

5:29 a.m.

Severus and Remus were walking slowly down the hall, leaning against each other.  Presently Remus stopped, tilting his head.  “What is it?” Severus asked, looking around warily, his hand on his wand.

Remus shook his head, smiling.  “Just listen,” he whispered back. 

A moment later, a loud squawk could be heard from the infirmary.  “I drank what?! You let me – you let him - how could you?” Followed by a loud thump that might have been a book hitting a wall.

Ronald Weasley’s voice piped out, “Now listen, mate…”

“Harry, you were dying…” Hermione Granger sounded a bit desperate.

In the hall, Remus and Severus looked at each other.  The werewolf pulled the Potions master into an embrace, laughing, and to his surprise, Severus found himself chuckling along.  Arms intertwined about waists, they began to walk again, descending together into the shadows of the dungeons.  Gradually, the shouting faded away behind them.  They walked in silence for a moment, then the dark haired man turned to the other.  “Remus,” he began.

“Hmmm?”

“I’m looking forward to loving you.”

Remus smiled and stopped.  Leaning in, he kissed his new lover softly on the mouth.  “That’s worth waiting for,” he replied.


End file.
